


And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood.

by megvad



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Relationships, Character Development, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I LOVE LEONIE, Mentioned Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Miklan (Fire Emblem), Minor Character Death, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Slow Burn, because symbolism, her supports with sylvain have so much potential!!!, so this my writing their happy ending, the poem's The Death of the Flowers, their dynamic is A++++++, title is from a william cullen bryant poem!, we were ROBBED of an A support, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megvad/pseuds/megvad
Summary: It's been five years since the fall of Garreg Mach Monastery, and only five hours since Claude proposed his idea to overthrow the Adrestian Empire.So, it seems like both everything and nothing has changed.It's been nine years since Leonie resolved to become the world's greatest mercenary, five years since she left Sauin village, four-and-a-half years since her argument with Sylvain, and a minute since she's seen his face after all this time.And her feelings have done everything except stay the same.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Marianne von Edmund/Ignatz Victor, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Leonie Pinelli
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	1. Ethereal Moon

**Author's Note:**

> My first FE:3H fic!! Woohoo!  
> Truthfully, I have a lot that I've started but yet to complete, so I'm really happy that I sat down and finished this one!  
> The first time I saw Leonie and Sylvain's supports, I was completely in love with their dynamic. You have Leonie, the tomboyish, blunt girl who resents nobility, and Sylvain, the flirtatious, troubled noble who resents his crest. Besides, I'm such a sucker for flirty characters paired with more grounded ones. While I would've loved for their supports to go into that conflict and explore how their personalities play off one another, I was instead met with something equally amazing.  
> Their support sure is a doozy, no doubt. But I do believe that it's because it lacks a proper resolution — an A support. The C and B supports lay out a foundation for the two of them and give us insight into another aspect of Leonie that's not really shown elsewhere. Leonie is insecure about being perceived as a guy. While she is tomboyish and would rather not indulge in pretty and cute things (as shown in Hilda's support), she's still a girl. She's interpreted Sylvain's flirting with almost every female as the basis to being acknowledged as one, and is therefore upset when he "passes her by". Their B support shows that Leonie isn't jealous of anyone else, nor does she want to be the the object of someone's affection. However, instead of explaining so, she impulsively gets upset. While it does seem irrational and little mean, it is extremely realistic and consistent to her character. Something that I've personally been through as well.  
> Now, the two of their supports revolve around a conflict that's never really resolved. But the conflict itself is interesting. Leonie doesn't like Sylvain, but she's set him to be standard for whether or not she is perceived as a woman. It reveals her insecurity about her identity, which I latched onto, because I experienced a lot of that myself growing up.  
> I truly believe an A support would've done them justice. Leonie can be fairly articulate about her feelings when she wants to be. I would've loved to see her apologize for lashing out at Sylvain, open up about her feelings, and reconcile with him.  
> Altogether, this support cemented my love for Leonie because I saw so much of myself in it. It warmed my heart and I wanted to see the Sylvain and her maturely sort through their problems.  
> So here I am, tryna fix it, and give the two of them the ending they deserve!

5 years have passed, and the night sky still looks the same.

Leonie can’t sleep. She’s always been riddled with some insomnia, so this isn’t anything new. What _is_ new, however, is the fact that she’s found her presumed-to-be-dead professor, partook in the world’s most perilous class reunion, and currently enlisted herself to the anti-Adrestian war effort, all in the same day.

Yeah, maybe _that'_ s why she can’t sleep.

Even as the night air slowly chills, she can’t find any incentive to return to her room. She’s been out here for a good while, staring up at the sky and letting thoughts flow freely. Very rarely does she happen upon moments of complete silence, and as a result, her mind is aching to fill that void with its incessant chatter.

 _Her room_. It’s weird to think about. After five years of pitching tents, renting spaces in taverns, and traveling with the wind of work, being provided a permanent bed feels odd. Like reliving a memory. The only problem is that nostalgia is marred by the knowledge of the present.

She knows she’s not alone with this sentiment. Even if everyone is in their room now, dusting the floors or remaking the bed or sorting through clutter, nobody had been able to hide their disturbed expression upon seeing it again. Those rooms remain as if nothing has changed.

Of course, everything has.

Maybe if their rooms were ransacked or trashed, this rolling feeling in her gut wouldn’t be haunting her. The thieves haven’t bothered searching this area, apparently. Why would they? Sure, the children of nobles would probably carry around some valuable object or a purse full of gold, but would it really be worth the hassle of searching the entire monastery, wandering through its meandering hallways and multiple staircases? Of course not. Leonie is particular about efficiency, as anyone who strives for profit would. There is no incentive to touch anything here.

But Edelgard?

She knows this place like the back of her hand. If she was planning to invade Garreg Mach and destroy the Church, then setting the dorms ablaze wouldn’t be too difficult either, right?

Or maybe Edelgard is one for efficiency as well, which means she saw no reason to destroy the monastery entirely, which means that she was either indifferent or sentimental to this place — this monastery, her _home_ , _their_ home — and let it stay, which means that she either cared for or hated her classmates — her friends, her _family_ , _their_ family — and let their remainders stand, and….

Leonie feels sick with speculation. Even though it’s been five years, her heart lurches and stings from a betrayal that isn’t even directed at her. But the way most of these structures remain as they have always been brings up too many questions that she has no answers for. Edelgard’s tactful mind is both enigmatic and impossibly cruel.

It feels a little pathetic, honestly, how after years of living under the impending fear of destructive conquest, Leonie’s only question to the empress is why she decided to let all of this — the fishing pond, the greenhouse, the dorms — weather the forces of time. Could the emotions associated with the place prevented her from ravaging it? Or did she simply not see any use in furthering the monastery's ruin?

Leonie has no sympathy for the tyrant — _no,_ of course not — nor for Jeralt’s murderer. However, she still finds herself hoping that it’s the former possibility. Maybe she’s in some twisted form of denial over how the girl from the Black Eagles class, who was always so particular about her white gloves and hated rats and carried such an aura of dignity and confidence, couldn’t possibly be the same one who plans to unify Fódlan and lay ruin to her village. After all, when two elephants fight, it’s the grass underneath their feet that gets trampled.

Or maybe she wants to believe that Edelgard isn’t acting on her own accord. Surely, the girl who couldn’t swim and drew doodles on the margins of her notes and hid her wistfulness behind stern looks wouldn’t take arms against a place all of them had considered a second home. Being so tied up in royal responsibilities and the affairs of nobles must certainly have placed her at their disposal. They must be holding some leverage over her, like a guillotine blade. It’d be easier to hate those humanoid outlines than the one person she knows.

But war and matters of the heart are never easy, so she must steel herself for both.

She wants to sneer at all of her debating. Leonie believed that she’d buried all this toiling and philosophizing under the more practical matters of recent years. However, something about _home_ and _family_ unearths the helplessness she feels in this rapidly shifting world.

She sighs and looks down at her lap. How long has she been out here? An hour? Two? No one has called her in yet, so either they’ve gone to sleep, or her stillness has exaggerated the flow of time. The bench opposite to their row of dorms isn’t exactly comfortable, but it still beats sitting inside. She’s become accustomed to the outside and the stars illuminating the night. It would be strange to go to sleep without bidding them a proper good night.

Besides, going into her room makes her feel slightly nauseous. Not only does it narrow her free flow of thought, it stands as an artificial sepulcher. Initially, Claude had proposed that they all sleep on the second-floor dorms, considering that this place was theirs and that proximity could be beneficial for strategizing. However, Lorenz, Hilda, and even he paled when they opened the door to Dimitri’s empty room, and nothing further was said on the subject.

There’s something disrespectful about sleeping in someone else’s bed, let alone that of a dead person. A distinct flavor of _them_ will always linger in the air, in the creases of the linen, in the position of a candlestick. Rooms were made to be private and intimate. To trample over them would be a violation of one’s personal reprieve from the outside world.

So, while the Golden Deer have decided to inhabit their own rooms, the ghosts of past students border them on opposite sides.

Leonie gets up, only now noticing the bundle of nervous energy that has settled in her abdomen. If sleep wasn’t already far in sight, it’s become too obscure to hope for now. In her dismay, she stretches. All it does is send more tension into her bones. Damn it.

Still, energy in any form cannot be wasted. Nothing should be discarded — not even her own faculties. Will a walk or some physical exercise will wear her out? It’d be best to tell someone first, in case someone will come looking for her. Now, out of Ignatz, Raphael, and the professor, which one would’ve fallen asleep first?

The answer to her question comes from the creaking of floorboards in the room to the far end of the row. Her muscles feel heavy with a strange reluctance, but she presses on and heads to the door of her professor’s room. Leonie gives two knocks. “Professor? You awake?”

She hears some shuffling before the door swings open. The professor looks out and smiles softly when she sees Leonie. Ah — that’s another thing that hasn’t changed much. The professor has hardly aged, though it’s probable that the abnormal five-long sleep had something to do with it. The familiarity, though, invites emotions more akin to the night sky than to the dorms. Pleasant. Warm. Guiding.

“Leonie,” she says. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep. And by the looks of it, neither could you.”

The professor’s eyes fall bashfully. “You caught me.” Before Leonie can mention her plans, her professor opens the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

It would feel awkward to decline, so without much thought, she does.

It occurs to her after taking a few steps inside that this is the first time she’s been inside her professor’s room. The layout is identical to everyone else's. Goodness, couldn't Seteth or Rhea have gotten her someplace nicer?

They don’t say anything for a bit. Thankfully, Leonie is armed with an arsenal of awkward conversation starters. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Oh, not really. I’m not very tired, and I was reading.” The stacks of books on the bed and desk are a testament to that.

“I’d bet. After a five-year nap, you’d have a lot to catch up on.” Leonie picks one of them off of the mattress. Embossed in the bear-skin cover is the word ‘ _Dictionary'_. Huh. “You know,” she says, looking up and waving the book around a little. “Language hasn’t changed all that much.”

Smothered surprise peeks through her professor’s otherwise muted expression. “Oh, uh, that —”, she fumbles just long enough for Leonie to become suspicious, “— I wanted to make sure my writing and reading are still in order. Luckily, they are.” She holds out her hand. “I’m sorry, do you want to sit down? I’ll move these books.”

With a face as often expressionless as the professor’s, one would've thought that it lent itself to lying. Her teacher has become either more emotive or less reticent. In any case, the sudden fragility in her voice draws out greater curiosity.

After a moment’s deliberation, Leonie opens the dictionary. In it, notes upon notes fill the margins, winding lines pointing to synonyms and circles on the part of speech. Her mind processes the information a bit too slowly, and it’s only when she flips to the first page and sees the name written does it register.

 _Petra Macneary_.

Leonie doesn’t need to blink. Instead, she turns to her professor, not really expecting an answer. If anything, maybe a sign of confirmation. But her teacher’s gaze has fallen to the ground, ashamed red rising to her cheeks.

She’d like to give some reassurance. Leonie doesn’t judge her for going through the belongings of these ex-students. All that comes out, though, is, “Are these books all...uh, are they all…?”

Her professor’s eyes widen, and then she proceeds to hastily clear the books off the bed. “Oh, no. No, no, of course not. No, I wouldn’t do that. It’s just…” Her professor wears stiff and mellowed chagrin. “I was at the library, see —”

“Professor, you don’t need —”

“— and I picked up whatever I could find. After all, once Claude made all those fantastic speeches, I knew I had to get back in shape. So I went through all these maps and geography books —”

“It’s all right, you don’t —”

“— Then, I ended up in the foreign books section. Which is very sparse! I think one of our reconstruction goals should be to add more to it. Make the library more diverse. I think it’d do us all good to read about other cultures and places and —”

“Listen, I’m not going to —”

“— anyways, I was there, and it turns out Petra left her book in that section years ago! How silly! I didn’t notice it until after I brought it back to my room. In fact, I was just going to return some of these.” Her professor finally stops rambling, and gestures for Leonie to place the dictionary atop the stack of books in her arms already.

She doesn’t. The professor offers a small and shaky smile as a plea to think nothing more of it, but Leonie finds it hard to obey. Who knew that the key to getting the professor all chatty was to strike a nerve?

“It’s okay, professor,” she finally says, placing Petra’s book on the bed instead.

“What’s okay?”

Leonie’s heart becomes heavy as she answers. It’s almost difficult to look her teacher in the eye. “To miss people. It’s alright.”

The professor stares at her, stunned for a moment, before her shoulders slump. Her head tilts forward, resting on the cover of the topmost book. Leonie can’t see her eyes, but the muffled sadness in her voice indicates enough. “You saw right through me, huh?”

Would it be polite to say no? “Yes. You’re a bad liar.”

Her shoulders convulse a little, and Leonie hears a sharp inhale of air. For a second, she’s afraid that she made the professor cry, but then she looks up, green eyes full of mirth mingling with melancholy. “Sorry. I should’ve known better than to fool you.”

“That’s okay. Did you really find this book in the library?”

“No. I was coming back from the library, and when I was passing by the other dorms I...I wanted to take a peek. And then I saw all these little reminders of them, and…” The sigh she makes sounds nostalgic but pained, as if gasping for air. “I wanted to see them again.”

Neither of them speak. While the words don’t echo, their meanings remain suspended in the air. The professor dumps all the books onto her desk. After shuffling through a few, she pulls out two, a bitter smile on her lips. She shows them to Leonie. “Lindhardt’s,” she says, sticking out her hands. “And Annette’s. I couldn’t help myself. We were passing all their rooms, and when I looked inside, I just…” Another heavy breath. “I was trying to find them.”

“In the pages?”

“They've made notes and circles and sketches. I’ve been pouring over them. I don’t really know why. But when I read them, it still feels like...they're _here_. I feel less alone.” Her professor laughs mournfully, and she shakes her head to discard those words. “Forget that. I don’t even know what ‘finding them’ means. I’m sorry. I’m being dramatic.”

There’s a comforting ache in Leonie’s chest when she hears her professor. Is that even possible to feel? Something that hurts in a good way? Slowly, she sits down on the bed. “No, I get what you mean.” Leonie’s afraid of her tongue swelling up with emotion and failing her, but she tries to communicate whatever she can. “Nothing feels...real, does it?”

Her professor follows, collapsing next to her. “Yes,” she says quietly. “It’s hard to accept. Moreso when there’s a five-year gap in my memory. Even looking at you guys, it’s just…” Her voice wavers, and she draws to silence.

The magnitude of her professor’s situation finally dawns on her. _She’s been asleep for five years_. She hasn’t seen them mature, hasn’t grown herself, hasn’t witnessed the world spiraling so far out of fathomability. The world around her teacher has moved five years onward, leaving her behind. She knows nothing of what happened. Knows nothing about _them_ anymore. Leonie is struck by a melange of bereavement and dismay for her, because pity doesn’t suit their (infallible, infinite, improbable) professor.

“I remember this place being safe. And important to my heart,” Leonie slowly begins, churning out words like a hand pump. “I had a very different idea of how our reunion would be five years ago. I thought we’d all be welcomed back. The alumni of Garreg Mach! We’d be rich and famous by then, so all the new kids would be starstruck at our arrival. Rhea would greet us and tell us how much we’ve grown. Who knows? Maybe Ignatz or Raphael or I would land a teaching job here. Not unlike you.” She chuckles before the somber mood overtakes her. “So being back here, and finding this place I loved so much reduced to...well — maybe if it _had_ been burned to the ground, I’d have an easier time accepting it. But this damn place is almost exactly like it was all those years ago, and you can’t help but... _remember_ , you know? Your brain tries to rationalize it all. How you could’ve missed all the signs. How you could’ve been so stupid. Seeing the rooms of people who are now dead or dead to _me_ , remembering that I shared walls with them, it’s just...it’s a lot.”

By the time she’s finished, the lump in her throat is so tight that it’s become difficult to speak. She looks up, hoping the heat pooling behind her eyes will recede in the direction of gravity. Her professor is rubbing her palms together — a nervous habit Shamir had once pointed out — and staring at her lap.

Then, the professor laughs. A genuine, honest laugh that startles Leonie. Her mouth is open, her eyes are squinted, and she laughs, reaching out to squish Leonie’s cheeks. “Look at you! How mature you sound now! The years have taught you a thing or two. I’d...you’d...I wouldn’t have imagined you speaking so eloquently.”

Had anyone else tried to do the same thing, Leonie would’ve smacked their hands away. However, the professor is always an exception. “I...I don’t think I’ve become all that eloquent,” she protests.

Her teacher’s hands retreat, but the joy in her eyes hasn’t. “Look at you! Putting feelings into words! You’re still doing so much better than me.”

Since laughter is infectious, Leonie giggles too. “You’re kinda strange, Professor.”

“I know. Thank you for mulling over feelings with me.”

“Anytime.”

Suddenly, Leonie allows herself to be entertained by the short-lived intrigue of _what-if_. The hypotheticals are returning. Although she has sworn herself away from them, she can’t help herself this time. _If_ their professor hadn’t disappeared.... _if_ she had remained....would she have gone with the Knights of Seiros? Most likely, but Leonie can’t shake the wonderful idea of their professor returning to the Alliance with them. She is simultaneously excited by the thought and disappointed by reality, but dismantles those feelings as soon as she realizes how selfish her wishes are.

Her professor gets up and stretches. “So? Was there anything you needed from me?”

“Yeah, actually. I was going to take a walk near the woods to clear my mind for a bit.” Then, after a pause, “Would you like to come with?”

She shakes her head. “No, but thank you. I think I’ll have an easier time clearing my head by reading.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m okay, Leonie. Really. Thank you.”

“Well then, I thought it’d be smart to at least tell someone I’d be out and about. If you holler, I won't be able to hear you.”

“Smart choice. Be careful, alright? I know you will be, but….there are new dangers out there. Come straight back if you see Imperial soldiers. Stay close and keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. Carry something to protect yourself with, too.”

“So…patrol, basically?”

“No, of course not. If it was a patrol, I’d suggest you bring a lance. But I think a javelin will be enough for a walk.”

Leonie laughs at the joke. Unfortunately, her professor does not.

“A-anyways,” Leonie says, looking down to hide the embarrassed flush. “I think that’s a little excessive. I mean, it’s not like the word has spread. Can we compromise on a knife?” She looks up and gestures to the sheath attached to her belt.

This time, her professor does smile, and folds her arms across her chest. “Alright. But promise that you’ll be careful?”

Leonie jumps off the bed, beaming. “You got it, Professor.”

“Good.” Although her teacher is shorter than Leonie, she still takes a step forward and pats her on the head. “Don’t stay up too late. And don’t jog or run, either. You’ll get yourself worked up and alert.”

“I’m an _adult_ , Professor.”

“You’ll always be my…what does Claude say? ‘My adorable Golden Deer’? Yes, you’ll always be my adorable students.”

“I’m sure you’ll want to add a curfew, too. Hell, why not get the church bells ringing too, _mom_?”

She lightly whacks Leonie’s shoulder, grinning. “ _Hey_. I’m not that much older than you.”

“Then stop acting like it, Professor!” Although she looks exasperated, it’s hard to muster up any real rancor. Leonie spins around and heads to the door. “Anyways, I’m off!”

Just before she steps out of the room, the professor calls out to her. “Leonie?”

“Yeah?” She turns around, unprepared to witness the overwhelming pride in her teacher’s smile.

“It’s so good to see you again.”

Embarrassing as it is, Leonie’s heart is too full for her to look properly at the professor when she whispers, “I missed you too”, before running off into the night.

As conflicted as she is about the monastery remaining the same, Leonie is more than happy to see that the woods haven’t changed.

Chilly night air rolls past her arms, but months of sleeping under the stars has made her resistant to the cold. What truly calms her is the scent of verdant pine, a perfume that’s warm and earthy and leaves her feeling utterly free in this expanse of darkness. Cicadas and crickets consume the silence in their midnight rhapsody. Leonie recounts the various choral arrangements she’s heard from them all around the Alliance as her legs spur her forward.

Leonie keeps one hand tracing walls as she walks. The other rests on the hilt of her sheathed knife. She’s not paranoid, but years of high-alert missions have conditioned her right hand’s placement. It’s remarkable about how terrifying and stressful conditions — hunting in the night, concealing her presence, fighting with the barest of visibility — are now second nature after extensive experience. How wonderful it is to grow and change. Inertia is a death wish in a mercenary’s line of work.

The light from the lamps inside the monastery grounds reaches and spills over the walls. It is enough to illuminate only her immediate surroundings. Thankfully, Leonie has always had exceptional night vision. She can make out shadows of trees and bushes from far beyond with the help of the moonlight.

She hears the faint crunch of leaves and grass a good distance into the forest. She writes it off, attributing it to a wolf's late-night hunt or the scampering of a deer. The noise overlaps with her own walk, so she tunes it out.

The Blue Sea Star has disappointingly disappeared from the sky. Although she isn’t hunting for monsters in the woods or slashing down bandits now, she is aware of the difficulty travelers must face in the absence of their guiding star.

As a child, she used to think that the night sky never changed. All stars had their designated position and role. She was content with their steadfast consistency. In spite of knowing better now, the phenomenon still impresses her; the destruction and rebirth of thousands of stars can go unnoticed among the sea of its copies. It's a little tragic, but nonetheless, awe-instilling. The notion humbles her every time she feels too close to the sky, too close to her limit. She still has so much left to reach for.

The crunching in the distance seems louder. Rhythmic, almost, like an animal’s trot. Leonie pays it no heed.

She’ll admit that her feelings towards everything are conflicted. Leonie is more than happy to join their revolt, obviously — what does she have to lose? Although work opportunities in the past few years have drastically increased, the rewards and bounties have inversely decreased. Leonie has finished paying off her debts to Sauin, and now that her brothers are working, her mother can live comfortably enough.

She knows what’s to come. Bloodbath. Senseless killing. As much as she likes to assume that she always has her emotions in check, the possibility of her slipping up while fighting a familiar face haunts her.

And — there it is — that hot ball of knotted feelings clogging up her esophagus. She wants change — and she doesn’t — but change can be good — but it can be detrimental — but stagnation revives ghosts — but seeing things the same is so comforting, so easy to understand —

Leonie likes the night sky, especially when the Blue Sea Star is out. It’s able to conceal the lifecycle of stars and remains virginal from the destructive touch of man. She likes her professor, who has also stayed the same.

She doesn’t like the monastery, though. Doesn’t like how it reminds her of her helplessness. She had been so naive five years ago. If Leonie had payed closer attention to Monica and Tomas and the shady figures lurking in the background of her happy memories, she may have been able to prevent disaster. She wishes the monastery had changed, bringing down her regrets along with it. Presently, it invites her into its arms with a hidden sneer. _I'll give you refuge_ , it seems to say. _You, who failed to keep your classmates safe. You, who failed to keep me safe. Let your return home be your penance._

Leonie likes everyone here. Almost no one is the same as they were five years ago, which is wonderful to see. Development is necessary for survival. She is no exception. How will she protect the professor (who’s stronger and smarter than she’ll ever be) if she can’t master the lance? Simultaneously, they are all the same. Is their reunion not proof of that? They upheld their promise because they are ever-loyal, ever-caring, ever-eager. Most importantly, they believe in one another, and a singular, uniting hope for a better future. The professor was right: they will always be her adorable Golden Deer. Leonie's love for them hasn't faltered.

She doesn’t like Edelgard. Doesn’t like how she was able to turn against a place Leonie had worked so hard to come to. Why is she threatening to rewrite the world she has become familiar with? Was placing everyone in danger worth it? Were they all the means to her wicked ends?

This push-and-pull of her wants and likes is giving her a headache. Leonie was wrong — she can’t even pretend that she has a grasp on her emotions. She’d definitely falter if she ever had to face someone she knew in battle.

Sometimes, she wishes she could at least _look_ emotionless, like her professor so long ago, and...the sound of an animal is rapidly approaching, isn’t it?

Leonie turns and peers into the forest, her hand automatically unsheathing the knife. Every sense of hers sharpens and directs itself at the approaching noise. She has numbed herself to irrational panic, but her breath instinctively hitches.

She makes out a shadowed figure on a horse coming closer. Leonie backs herself up against the wall, concealing herself in its meager shadow, before taking stock of the situation.

Is the horseman charging right at her, or have they yet to see her? Why are they arriving at the monastery so late? On top of that, why not use the main entrance? There’s no way it could be reinforcements or a lost traveler. Not with the frantic speed at which they’re approaching.

The dark shape becomes more defined with every passing second. The horse’s clopping grows louder, and the noise is competing against the rush of blood to her ears. There are two options, now — either a bandit or an Imperialist scout. She prays that it’s just a poorly-armed thief.

That hope is quickly smothered when she sees light glinting off of a chest plate. Okay, so a soldier. How did the Empire find them so quickly? They’d been here for only a day! Her professor had told her to come straight back if she spotted one, but there’s no time. The chance of fleeing grows slimmer and slimmer by the second. Confrontation is the only option, and while that doesn’t disconcert her, she fears the possibility of reinforcements. A knife can only do so much.

 _In-out-out_ , she tells herself. _Just like Shamir says. In-out-out_.

Leonie’s muscles loosen. Slipping into the mercenary mindset allows her to remove any doubt and single out her objective. She can do this — five years of experience are testament to that — even without her horse and a large lance.

The figure is close, continuing to gallop in her direction. She cannot spot an equipped weapon. The stranger must be a dark rider, then. Great. She needs to make the first move. Otherwise, she’ll have a hard time getting another one. The timer in her head goes off, and the unrest in her body — her racing heartbeat, her dry mouth, all the tension and butterflies — falls quiet.

_3…_

Maroon colored robes with the insignia of the Empire decorate the horse, confirming her beliefs.

_2…_

She doesn’t focus on the rider. Without a lance, she cannot knock them off in one swoop. The only option is to incapacitate the horse.

_1…_

The second the horse’s muzzle falls under the glow of monastery light, she charges forward.

With a thundering roar, Leonie sprints and lunges out with her knife. Instead of piercing flesh, however, she ends up thrusting into the air. The rider is able to maneuver the horse further right at the last second with a shriek. The blade slices right through the Imperial cloth and the flap of the saddle, grazing the horse instead of stabbing it. The poor creature brays in pain and shock. That noise, however, barely drowns out her name. “ _Leonie_?” the rider yelps, and in the brief moment she turns up to face them, all she needs to spot is the shock of red hair to tell who it is.

The horse thrashes and cries some more, even as the rider tries his best to calm it down. Suddenly, it leans forward and kicks its hind legs up. He is flung off and sent catapulting through the air. He lands upside down, legs propped up by the wall and midway through a flailing somersault.

The horse bolts away, but Leonie doesn’t think to follow it. Instead, all she can focus on is the groaning man. She inches forward little by little, not trusting her eyes, until she can confirm that the hair, the face, and the eyes all match up.

“ _Sylvain_?”

Upon hearing his name, he stops groaning. Sylvain looks up at her, first shocked, and then elated.

“You guys really _are_ here!” he cries, face lighting up brighter than the Blue Sea Star. “Oh Seiros, It’s _you_ , Leonie!”

Her thoughts are racing, proving to be strong competition against her pulse. The only thing she can latch onto and say without faltering is, “The...horse…?”

Sylvain looks around blankly, before shrugging (that is, as best as one can in his position). “I’ll be in some hot water when I get home. No big deal.”

Leonie’s eyes are still wide. She can’t tell whether the accompanying light-headedness is from the lingering adrenaline or the relief of seeing his face. His changed, adult face.

“But _jeez_ , look at you! You’re so much...uh, _bigger_! Those fighting skills sure haven’t rusted, though.” His eyes are open, starlight glittering in them. “I’ll take it that the rest of the Golden Deer are here too? Sorry for being a little late. Wasn’t looking forward to taking the Ailell route, so I chose the longer one.” He beams at her and motions for her to come closer. “Mind helping me up, sunflower?”

And even though Sylvain’s smile is upside-down, Leonie realizes one thing, too.

Just like the night sky, it hasn’t changed either.


	2. Ethereal Moon (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion!!!!

Leonie can still barely grasp what’s going on. Suspended in her disbelief, she reaches out tentatively. Whether she does that to test the apparition or to help him up evades even her. Nothing feels entirely real.

Her fingers brush against his palm. Have Sylvain’s hands become colder? Harder and more calloused with him?

...No, it’s just his armor.

The sensation confirms the reality of the situation and something within her chest explodes. Reality has finally caught up. Leonie forgets to breathe as she grabs his palms.

“Great! So just drag me forward, okay?” Sylvain instructs, still beaming. “On the count of three. One —”

Immediately, she pulls him towards her, the scrape of metal on soil only muffled by his sudden yelp. Sylvain becomes less obscure under the thin strip of light that she drags him into. Leonie can finally make out the finer features of his face. His eyes, nose, and smile haven’t changed, but he’s grown out his hair. Although it’s the same, impish red that it always was, it frames his face more elegantly now. Even when tussled by leaves and traces of dirt.

“There’s still a ‘two’ and ‘three’ left!” he grumbles, flipping himself over and pushing himself off the ground. “Jeez, warn a guy before you almost dislocate his shoulders!” Nevertheless, Sylvain looks plenty proud to be up on his feet.

And then he's knocked down again.

“Sylvain!” Leonie throws herself at him, laughing uncontrollably from the excitement. She feels his balance being toppled, but it’s hard to care about anything other than the comfort in knowing that he’s safe, the delight she feels now that he’s with them. She’s shaking with relief while a dozen other emotions flood her chest.

He groans when he hits the ground, but she can hear his smile when he says “Good to know that you missed me too!” Sylvain tilts his head back and laughs. Leonie soaks up the noise and the convulsions of his chest. It sounds a little warm, a little spluttering, a little bit of everything boisterous and sweet. It sounds the _same_. It sounds the same. _He_ sounds the same, and he _is_ the same. Leonie’s heart swells and aches in the constraints of her ribcage, so she tightens her embrace around his chest.

“I did. I missed you,” she confesses, her tongue nimbler and more honest than her head. Thankfully, she narrowly avoids saying _‘I thought I’d never see you again’_ and bursting into tears.

Sylvain is silent for a moment. Then, he sighs. “I’m here now,” he whispers, his tone laced with heart-wrenching yearning. He wraps his arms around her and the two of them sit there in placid silence. Her hold on him doesn’t let up out of the fear that he’ll slip away once more.

It might be a little silly, honestly, how grateful she is to see him again. She didn’t have similar outbursts when she reunited with the rest of the Golden Deer. Perhaps a part of her has always intuitively known that her old classmates would meet one another again. That’s why the past five years have been marked with a perpetual feeling of anticipation, of unfulfilled and inexplicable longing. She’s held onto their little promise as a lifeline for so long and trusted that they would do the same.

But Sylvain, he — he’s not really…as cruel as it is to think it, Leonie had given up hope on _ever_ seeing him again. She thought he’d stay in Faerghus, considering the predicament they are in. She doesn’t want to start fretting over logistics but — really, why is he here?

Sylvain was a part of the Blue Lions before joining the Golden Deer. His only motivation was the professor, so she never believed he’d commit to their class. The most she expected of his work ethic was an occasional good grade or the bare minimum participation on a group project. Leonie would get so frustrated with him, so agitated by his presence. Since his friendships lay outside of the Alliance, he never spent much time with the rest of them. Sylvain always remained a background presence in their lunches, their midnight pantry raids, and the night of the ball.

Leonie didn’t fault him for any of that — of course not. Not anymore, at least. Sylvain was always proving her wrong. He was immensely talented and clever when he put in the effort. His wit and sly charm rivaled Claude’s. Although she usurped the title of ‘best horseback rider’, he came a close second. And yes — she’d have to begrudgingly admit — he played a quintessential role in a class test on Fódlan geography. 

Above all, and proven by his presence now, he was always silently looking in, keeping his promises, dedicated to the Golden Deer.

Sylvain keeps proving her wrong, and she loves him for it. He’s left his home to come see his class. Even if they weren’t the best of friends, even if their opinions clashed, even if their reunion was uncertain at best, he’s come. The thought leaves her choked up with guilt. How could she have ever doubted him? He’s here now, and for good.

This time, she hopes he won’t prove her wrong.

Leonie finally lets go of him, trying to compose herself. The second she does, she hears Sylvain exhale. “I didn’t want to ruin the moment by pointing out that you were suffocating me,” he pants. Wound up by jittery gratitude and a deluge of forgotten feelings, she can’t help but giggle. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose tingle as the premonition for tears.

“Idiot.” She playfully hits his shoulder and then distracts herself by pulling the debris from his hair. “How did you get _twigs_ up here?”

“Oh, you know. Escaping near-death experiences. And stealing an Imperial soldier’s garb. It’s really hard to travel nowadays if you’re wearing blue or yellow, you know?”

“And you went to all that trouble because…?”

“To see you, sunflower.”

Leonie will admit, she falters at that. She jolts back and her eyes go wide, staring blankly at his smile. In that moment of stunned silence, her face is too hot to feel the cool night wind. 

She waits for his mocking. For him to drop the facade and poke fun of her shocked expression. However, Sylvain makes no motion to tease her or call it quits. So Leonie does it herself.

“Try again.” She raises a brow, unamused.

“Well, uh, there are other girls here too, and I thought —” He sheepishly grins and looks away.

“You risked your life because you were _horny_?”

“Wha — no! No, no, not because of that! I mean, I missed _all_ of you, seriously! And to be honest, I really wanted to get away from home for a bit. To distance me from the fighting, you know?”

Leonie snorts. “Oh, you poor boy.”

“Huh?”

She covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head. “Oh Seiros.” It’s hard to find the heart to explain the irony. 

“Hey! I’m telling the truth this time!”

“I know, yeah, I know, but —” Another chortle.

“What’s so funny? Oh, I get it. You don’t believe me.”

“No! No, I do! But you won’t believe this.”

Sylvain huffs. “Well, I can’t ‘not believe’ something if I don’t know what it is, right?”

She leaps to her feet and brushes herself off, still grinning. “You’re right. We’ve got to meet the others! Claude’s planning something crazy.”

“Well, if it’s Claude, we’ve got no choice but to put faith in his schemes, right?” She nods, and unable to contain herself for much longer, Leonie offers him her hand.

“Come on. Not everyone’s asleep yet.”

He tentatively places his armored hand in her own. “Don’t pull me up too abruptly, okay? On the count of three...”

“Three.” He howls as she pulls him up in one tug and breaks out into a run, dragging him behind her.

 _“Now_ you’ve dislocated my shoulder!” he cries, stumbling and struggling to keep up. “Ow! Ow! I’ve ripped a tendon! I’m losing feeling in my arm!”

Leonie laughs, enjoying the way the air whips her hair around. There’s no need to look up at the Blue Sea Star to find her way back.

After all, Sylvain is hopeless at directions, and he still made it back home.

It’s comforting to see that everyone else reacts exactly the same way that she does upon Sylvain’s return.

Leonie dashes through the main entrance and grottos to arrive at the dorms. Her incessant hollering must’ve alerted everyone within proximity, because it doesn’t take very long for the rest of the Golden Deer to arrive.

Raphael is first. Leonie assumed he’d be asleep, but he bursts out of his room immediately upon hearing her. “Leonie? What’s wrong?” Once he spots Sylvain, his face shifts from alarm to disbelief to euphoria. He bounds towards the two of them and scoops Sylvain up in his arms effortlessly, squeezing and spinning him around. “Sylvain? Is it really you?” he laughs.

“I-in the flesh,” he wheezes, forcing a smile while struggling for air. “Did you get stronger, buddy?”

Luckily, within minutes, another voice comes to the rescue. “ _Sylvain_?” Lysithea comes hurrying forward with wide eyes. “Raphael, let him go! You’re choking him!”

Once Sylvain is reluctantly put down, his jaw drops. “ _Lysithea_?”

“I don’t believe this! You’re here!” She hugs him, beaming.

“Don’t believe what?” Ignatz’s door swings open, and upon realizing what the commotion is about, he comes running forward too.

“ _Seiros_ , is that Ignatz? Look at you!” Sylvain grabs his shoulders, seemingly more astounded by his transformation than Ignatz is at his arrival. “Look at your hair! Your jaw!” He cackles. “You’ve become quite the lady killer!”

As Ignatz flushes and tries to stammer out a response, a quiet voice saves him by interjecting. “He’s grown taller, hasn’t he?” Marianne comes towards them with a broad smile. “And you too, Sylvain. You look different as well.”

“ _Me_? Marianne, look at _you_!” He opens his arms to invite her into an embrace, but her eyes avert to the ground. Although she is still smiling, a gentle shake of the head is enough to politely convey to Sylvain to lower the gesture.

“You guys just keep popping out from nowhere!” Leonie laughs. “Lysithea, Marianne — aren’t you supposed to be on the second floor?”

“Firstly, you’re exceptionally loud. I’d be able to hear you even from my room. Secondly, I was in the classroom.” Lysithea points past the rooms. “Did you know that there’s still some chalk on the board?”

“I was in the stables,” Marianne adds. “But you startled me when you ran past, so I didn’t say anything.”

Sylvain steps away from the group to gape at his surroundings. “Lysithea, did you say the classrooms? I...I can’t believe this! Look at this place!” He runs his hands through his hair, reeling from the sight. His eyes are twinkling. “It looks exactly the same as…”

Their professor’s door opens. She staggers out of her room, stifling a yawn. “Guys? What’s going on?” Her mouth remains open to say something else, but it all disappears once her eyes land on that red hair.

“Professor!” Sylvain cries, running up to her without hesitation. Even from a distance, it’s easy to see how her shocked expression melts into relief. The moonlight makes the water on the rim of her glassy eyes shine. The professor almost stumbles down the stairs and clings to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

“You’re here. You’re here. I didn’t think — ” Her voice breaks and the rest of her mumbling becomes inaudible. Sylvain takes the opportunity to swing her around.

“I thought I’d never see you again! You’re _alive_ , Professor!” His smile is uncontrollable and his laughter coaxes giggles out of the rest of them. It is as if they too are just realizing the true weight of their professor’s existence here and now. All of this is nothing short of a miracle. The Goddess must have had a hand in it.

“Group hug!” Raphael declares, and immediately, Sylvain and their teacher and trapped by the five of them scrambling to get whatever space they can.

“I thought you’d…” The word ‘died’ doesn’t quite fall from his mouth, but the implication still hangs there.

“And how do you think _I_ felt?” A small and trembling smile carves itself on her face. “Claude told me about Faerghus. Can you even imagine what that’s like? Waking up after five years and realizing that one of your students is in grave danger?”

“...Wait, _five years_?” Sylvain’s eyebrows furrow as he steps back to study her expression. “Where’ve you been? Didn’t the Knights of Seiros find you after the battle?”

“No, I suppose it was Teach who found _us_.” Everyone turns around to see Claude stepping forward, with Lorenz and Hilda following. His grin turns lopsided when he spots Sylvain’s awestruck expression. “Welcome back, Lord Gautier.” He adds a flourish of the hands and a dramatic bow before chuckling.

Sylvain’s jaw drops for a moment. Then, he joins in. “Lord Riegan! The pleasure is all mine.” He steps forward and winks before copying the motions. “Seriously, man, I almost didn’t recognize you! I’m glad you went down the sideburns route. Really accentuates the jawline.” He reaches out to shake Claude’s hand and pulls him into a hug.

“I didn’t think you’d make it. Your hair looks as soft as ever.” He steps back with a twinkle in his eye. “But honestly, your parents were okay with you just taking a little vacation?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask.”

“That’s the spirit!” He whacks him on the back.

“Wait, you came here without telling anyone?” Lorenz pipes up, aghast. When Sylvain turns to look at him, his eyes shoot wide open. He clamps a hand over his mouth after a small noise of surprise jumps from his throat.

The stunned silence goes on for uncomfortably long. Lorenz frowns. “...Why are you looking at me like that?”

“To be fair, I would’ve done the same thing, had we not reunited in the middle of a battle,” Hilda says, poking Lorenz’s forehead. He turns away, disgruntled.

“ _Your hair_ ,” Sylvain whispers, almost guffawing. He is narrowly able to escape offending him by adding, “It’s amazing! The cut really suits you.”

“ _S_ _ee_ , Hilda? Sylvain likes it.” He beams as he waggles a finger in front of her face. “Turns out that it’s just _you_ who can’t appreciate style.”

“Alas, I’m sure it is, Lorenz.”

Affirmed by the victory, he turns to Sylvain and pats his shoulder. “You look like you’ve been doing well, Sylvain. I offer my sincerest welcome.”

“You know, we were all waiting for you,” Hilda lies. She knows how to make someone feel special. “I insisted that we don't cut the cake until after you arrived, but it kept getting colder, and Raphael was getting impatient. Sorry, we didn’t save any for you.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I’m more of a pudding person, actually.” His gaze drifts almost unnoticeably towards her chest after they pull away from a hug. “You look as lovely as ever, _mademoiselle_. Aster flowers only blossom more beautifully with time.”

“Why, thank you! The heir of House Gautier isn’t too unfortunate himself!”

Sylvain winks. “I try.”

“Break it up, you incorrigible flirts." The professor steps between and lightly pushes them apart. "What was Seteth’s rule again?”

“A meter between male and female students?” Ignatz offers.

She snaps her fingers. “You got it! Bonus points for Ignatz on the next test.”

“Ignatz doesn’t _need_ bonus points on the next test,” Claude whines. “The rest of us do!”

“ _I_ don’t rely on extra points!”

“Alright, Lysithea. Everyone sans Ignatz and Lysithea.”

“I can score well on my own merit, too.”

“Assuming that you have merit, Lorenz.”

“Why, I _never_ —”

He’s ready to lunge out and strangle Claude, but is only withheld by the professor. As everyone descends into snickering and whoops, Leonie is struck by the warm but fleeting feeling of déjà vu. Maybe she’s worrying about change too much.

Clearly, nothing’s different.

“Speaking of bonus points,” Sylvain says once the cacophony dies down. “Leonie was talking about some sort of scheme you’re formulating. Told me that I wouldn’t believe it. Care to let me in?”

“That’s a non-sequitur,” Lysithea grumbles.

“Now, more bonus points to whoever knows what that means.” He flashes an innocuous smile at her vexed expression. “Anyways, I’m already pumped.”

“Well, you missed out on quite a bit!” Claude swings an arm around his shoulder. “We went over the details of the master plan over cake. It’s so masterful that I believe that we need to haul you away to meet the Knights of Seiros, first!”

“Huh?” Sylvain’s puzzled expression mirrors everyone’s. Claude steers him away from the group before looking over his shoulder at the professor.

“Teach! Mind tagging along?” Their gazes linger upon one another for a couple of seconds, communicating in that special and intimate way reserved only for eyes.

She finally nods. “Very well. Lead the way.” Claude begins to push Sylvain towards the second floor, ignoring his confused protests. Before anyone has the chance to speak up or offer to follow, the professor announces, “It’s already very late. We’re getting up early tomorrow, so you guys should go to bed right away.” Then, once the other two are out of earshot, she whispers, “Don’t follow. We don’t want to pressure him into doing something he doesn’t really want”, before jogging off after the two of them.

“Whoa, is this so-called ‘news’ a threesome?” Sylvain’s voice pierces the night air, obnoxious and jovial. “You know, they call me a bicycle for a reason.”

How Claude and the professor manage to synchronize their smacks to the back of his head, no one knows.

When Leonie awakes, she wonders if the last five years were even real.

Her eyes flutter open to familiar surroundings. The post-sleep haze leaves her in the overlap between foggy recollection and dreams. She’s in her room — the same room she had returned to every night for almost a year. Reality has yet to dawn upon her, and some part of her is relieved at the idea that those five years of toil and uncertainty and conflict were all figments of a tumultuous imagination.

That’s the idea she contents herself with until she flips over. The ignorance that coaxed her to peace is shattered when she feels her hair sticking to her face. There were reasons why she’d kept it chopped short. One of them was to avoid the unpleasant tickling at the corners of her mouth after a nap.

Didn’t she tie it up before bed? Apparently not. Last night’s events emerge from beneath the veneer of sleep. After the professor’s urging, she'd hit the bed and passed out immediately. So much for the turmoil of ‘sleeping amidst spirits’. She was both more tired and more trained to rest in nerve-wracking situations than she had realized.

Leonie stretches and pushes herself up. There’s a slight ache in her forearms thanks to yesterday’s battle, although it’s nothing that a warm bath won’t fix. Besides, she spent years hunting and fighting perpetually; how is Hilda faring?

Light peeks in from the edges of the windows and beneath the door, but it's not enough to help her determine what time it is. She doesn’t hear any noise. Has the morning construction not begun? Just how early is she?

Unwillingly leaving the warmth of the sheets, Leonie swings her legs over the side of the bed. A chill lances up her spine as her soles meet the cool floor, snapping her out of any remaining mellowness.

She flings the wooden shutters open. The sun has just risen just now, too, barely touching the horizon. Only a few birds have seized the opportunity to chirp out a melody. Although the air is as chilly as it was last night, the morning dew invigorates, not tires. There’s a beautiful but deceptive freshness to the world. One could believe that nothing is wrong.

Leonie is a proponent for early mornings and hasty preparation. The sun waits for no one, after all. Squandering the first hours of daylight is as bad as wasting money. Despite that knowledge, she can’t help but stare out window and admire the landscape in this amicable solitude. The paleness of the sky contrasts nicely with the greens of the forest. Ignatz would appreciate such a view.

Speaking of which, has anyone else woken up? She crosses her room and cracks open the door to find no one. Huh. The professor never mentioned _when_ they would be starting, only that it would be early. How early is ‘early’? In any case, it allows her to bathe at her ease. Leonie closes the door and drops down to shuffle through her only bag of belongings. While pulling out her clothes and scurrying out of the room, she wonders who’ll be put on laundry duty. They may all be adults, but the professor still sees them as students, and students still have chores, war effort or not.

Leonie pulls her hair down from a bun as she exits the bathhouse. _Man_ , maybe there are some perks to lazy and relaxing baths. The drowsiness and ache in her muscles have melted away. Thankfully, due to Hilda’s discretion, their first order of business upon naming Garreg Mach as their base of operations was to clean the bathrooms. Leonie resolves to never doubt Hilda’s priorities or her selection of toiletries again. As costly and impractical as lavender-scented soap is, she’d be lying if she doesn’t admit that soft skin feels good.

The sound of extra footsteps alerts her. She looks around, and to her surprise, finds Sylvain passing by the dorms.

 _Sylvain_.

He’s...he’s still here.

Her breath catches in her throat. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Sylvain could have left until she sees him. Her heart twists into knots and tightens out of fear that the reason why he’s up so early is so that he can do just that.

He’s so engrossed in reading the paper in his hands that he doesn’t notice her jogging up to him. Her “Good morning!” causes his head to snap up and towards her. “Leonie!” he exclaims in pleasant surprise. “You’re up early.”

“You’re one to talk.” However, as she observes the darkness around his eyes and the pallor of his face, she adds, “...Did you even go to sleep, though?”

His expression falls momentarily before he laughs. “Is it that obvious?” 

“Yeah. You look like shit.” Immediately, Leonie clamps a hand over her mouth. “Oh. Sorry. Was that too mean?”

“Ouch.” Sylvain winces and shakes his hand, as if he’s been pricked, before resuming his grin. “Nah. It’s the truth. I didn’t sleep. I still believe the hair salvages me, though.”

“I suppose it does, if you keep your head tilted down.”

“But then I’d run into walls. Or miss out on seeing you.”

“Huh. I see you’ve improved your pick-up lines. Have you _really_ been fighting for these last five years?”

He holds up his hands in defense. “Hey! All work and no play makes Sylvain a dull boy.”

“And all your playing has left you duller than before.”

Sylvain gasps and covers his heart. “You wound me! Your words are sharper than any blade!”

Leonie giggles. “Your dramatics haven’t changed one bit. That’s good.”

“Neither has your candidness. That’s also good.”

“Why, thank you.” She bows in a very Lorenz-ish fashion and then pinches his cheeks. “How did last night go? With Claude and the professor?”

Sylvain doesn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, his eyes avert while he hesitantly maintains his smile. “It went...well.”

Oh no. That lilt in his voice can mean nothing good. Her stomach sinks into a puddle of something sickly and cold. Why was she hoping for the impossible? Why had she taken Sylvain’s presence for granted? His family is fighting against the Empire directly. He wouldn’t shirk that responsibility to join a cause that might not even work. Trying to convince him now would be selfish.

“It’s good to see that the Knights are doing well, though,” he continues. “None of them have really changed. They told me about Rhea, which is a whole situation on its own. Besides everyone being safe and sound, there’s not a lot of good news to share. I wish I could’ve said something to brighten them up, but...we can’t hold up the Gautier and Fraldarius fronts for much longer. It’s...pretty rough out there. Especially so when it feels like my hands are tied behind my back.”

“Looks like you had a lot to think about last night, huh?” Leonie forces a smile. She feels foolish for having deluded herself.

“I did. But it’s not the reason I didn’t sleep. I was busy writing. Wanna see?” He holds out a stack of letters.

Leonie takes them from his hand and flips through them. One is addressed to his parents, another to Felix, the next to Ingrid, the following to Mercedes, and...wait a minute.

“I thought I’d tell my parents that I’ll be staying here for the time being. And it wouldn’t hurt to inform the rest of the Blue Lions, right?”

She goes through the names again. _Felix. Ingrid. Mercedes. Annette. Ashe. Lord Gautier._ Leonie hands the letters back and looks up at him. “...Huh?”

Sylvain stuffs them in his pocket. “Who knows, maybe my dad will send some gifts. We can use all the help we can get, both in supplies and manpower. With the way that Raphael eats…”

Her brain sputters to a halt. All she can do is dumbly stare at him, every thought having been wiped away.

“It might be hard to convince Felix to come, but you’ll find that I can be _extremely_ persuasive. I haven’t been in contact with Mercedes, Annette, or Ashe, but I’m sure that either Ingrid or Felix can track them down. We shouldn’t overwhelm Marianne and Manuela. Another healer will be super valuable.”

“Wait, wait...‘ _we_ '?” Something inside sparks, igniting a long trail of hot, exciting possibilities.

“...Yes, ‘we’.” Sylvain is more perceptive than she gives him credit for. “Looks like _you’re_ the one who needs to start looking up. I just got here. Why would I leave so soon?” He chuckles and playfully pokes her forehead.

“Because you need to return home. You need to fight for your people. Your parents will be worried.” Her emotions starkly contrast those words. Delight bubbles through her, rising to her eyes. “Because we’re still trying to figure out this plan, and we’re not a sizable army, and it’s going to be dangerous and hard.”

“Jeez, are you _trying_ to get me to go home? You have a penchant for hurting me.”

“Sorry.” She’s not, though. “You’re serious? You want to stay and fight?”

“I do. Claude and Teach asked me that question a million times last night. Asked if I _really_ , _really_ wanted to do this. I had to give a million yes’s to satiate them.”

“You won’t go home?”

“I don’t want to. I suppose having the heir disappear so suddenly might cause some ruckus back home, but it’ll be for the best. Can’t wait to hear all the fancy names my father’s come up for me. I just...I don’t know if fighting in Faerghus would’ve been practical. Or if I would’ve been any help.” He opens his mouth to stay something else, but shakes his head instead. “So I’m staying here. I believe in Claude. I believe in you guys, more than in myself.”

“Sylvain’s staying.” Leonie skips back to punch the air. “Sylvain’s staying!” She charges forward, throws her arms around him, and lifts him off the ground. She can’t achieve the kind of height Raphael gets, but it’s enough to win a surprised laugh and “ _whoa_!” from Sylvain. It feels as though she’s drunk on champagne — buzzed with warm and sweet sensations all over. Relief really _is_ the best kind of liquor.

“Please don’t squeeze. My chest still hurts.”

“Sorry.” She means it this time. Sylvain is dropped back on his feet, and the two of them are so wound up that they laugh in unison.

“Anyways, Seteth told me that he’s requested a ton of merchants to stop by this morning. Even if it’s unlikely, I was hoping that one of them will be traveling to Faerghus. Who knows. Wanna come with?”

“Sure! You’ll need help haggling with them.”

“Haggle? Why would I do that?”

“These merchants are from the Alliance, my dear ingénue,” she explains as they head towards the entrance of the monastery. “Not Garreg Mach certified salespeople. You need to bargain to get anything done.”

If Sylvain can keep proving her wrong, well, she’d like to be right just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> Leonie comes off to me as a someone who both loves and resists change. She doesn't waste anything and is shown to be extremely thrifty, reusing whatever she can. She holds onto the charm Jeralt gave her and idolizes him after so many years. However, she is also shown to have a great drive to get stronger, to grow, which entails change. I'd imagine that she'd suffer a conflict of ideals and feelings returning to the monastery — both reassured to find their rooms in one piece and simultaneously disconcerted by the meaning it holds now.  
> Anyways, thank you for reading so far!


End file.
